


Perennial (the Nostalgia mix)

by redsnake05



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Old Age, Past Character Death, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:51:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Augusta Longbottom's antipathy to flowers and plants started long ago; she's just old enough now to remember and tell of it. Neville brings useful things, but his gift for listening is the most important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perennial (the Nostalgia mix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiraMira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Душица (Смесь воспоминаний)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10731660) by [Drakonyashka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakonyashka/pseuds/Drakonyashka)
  * Inspired by [Annuals](https://archiveofourown.org/works/192691) by [MiraMira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/pseuds/MiraMira). 



> I hope you enjoy this fic. I love the drabble that inspired it, and I wanted to explore some of the things that made Augusta Longbottom the way she is.

Augusta winced as she straightened up out of her seat, bones creaking and muscles protesting. She could heat the kettle with a swish of her wand - not as limber anymore, but still adequate, whatever Minerva thought of her Charms work - but there were many things that she preferred to do by hand. A product of her upbringing, she thought. Her family had lived close to the Muggle world, after all.

She used her stick more and more often these days, and leaned on it heavily as she made her way to the sink. She leaned gratefully against the heavy stone and ran cold clear water into the copper bottomed kettle, even more grateful she'd had the sense to charm it for lightness years ago. She looked out into her sensible, practical garden as the water ran slowly. She'd never been much of one for gardens; that had always been her husband's domain. Now, of course, she wouldn't be much good in a garden anyway, unable to bend to the heavy black earth, and unwilling to use her wand. 

She remembered her sister, born with just the merest scrap of magic, digging by hand in the soft soil of their garden and teaching her how to do it. She had visited her many times after her wedding to a cheerful Muggle farmer, and how their garden had bloomed bright and lush from the care of her fingers. She shut off the water with a quick jerk.

She turned away, lifting the kettle from the sink to the range. She did light this with her wand, the little enchantment automatic now. She knew how to light a fire Muggle-style too, though she was too tired and old to spend that time now.

Augusta sank gratefully onto the stool by the fire. She laughed a little at the picture she must make, like an old witch from a Muggle story book. She was an old witch, though, and not ashamed of it.

The kettle slowly heated as Augusta looked around her bare kitchen and sighed. She missed the sound and bustle of family, much though it pained her to say it. As if to underscore the feeling, her floo chimed, and Augusta climbed to her feet and slowly gathered together cups and a teapot as Neville's voice echoed through the house.

"In the kitchen," she called. 

He came in, taller than her and smiling, and hugged her gently. She would have discouraged such open affection once, but she couldn't turn him away now.

"Just in time for tea," he said. "I am lucky." He pulled a couple of packages from his pocket and unwrapped the first one on the bench. "I have biscuits. Hannah made them for you." He put them on a plate and patiently let Augusta pour the water into the pot, bringing everything to the table only when she was done with her part. 

"I wasn't expecting you," she said, once she had eased herself into her chair. 

"I have something for you," he said. He unwrapped the second package and handed it over. It was a jar of some kind of balm. She prised the lid off easily; it had obviously been charmed to pop off without much effort. 

The bam inside was bright golden yellow, almost shimmering, and the pot slightly warm. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I made it," Neville said. "Phoenixblossom balm, with a few other things, of course. I thought it might ease your joints."

"You made it?" she asked, giving it a cautious sniff. It smelled like summertime to her, of the Muggle herbs in her sister's garden nestled up with a few of the more discreet wizarding ones. Maybe some lemon balm and dragonmint. 

"I remembered, once, when I was small, when I first found Phoenixblossom in our garden. It was so warm, so vital, but, of course, it doesn't have any medicinal properties in Potions."

Augusta remembered that day, or, at least, one of many days when Neville was blissfully occupied in the rich soil of the garden, and her harshness to him. She closed her eyes in remembered shame; her own issues with growing things were not his, and she'd been a fool not to realise it for so long. Neville touched her hand and she looked up at him, seeing nothing but love in his face. 

"I remembered, though," he said, scooping out a little of the balm and rubbing it into her aching wrist and gnarled fingers, "Dean, from my year at school, using some truly foul cream that turned hot on your skin. Liniment, he called it, and that's what this is. Is it good?"

Augusta turned her hand slowly, and had to admit that the gentle warmth was good, soothing out the aches and letting her move more easily. It would never turn back the clock to her youth, but it was good, and the fact that Neville thought of her was more than good.

"It's not just your father who was good with gardens," she said abruptly, holding out her other hand. "My sister was good with plants too."

Neville paused for a moment in scooping up some more balm. "Your sister?" he echoed.

"Oh yes," said Augusta. "This was long ago, of course, before I met your grandfather, even."

Neville rubbed his fingers gently over Augusta's skin, letting her decide what to tell him and when. He'd always been like that, not wanting to put himself forward, and Augusta was glad he was still here, waiting to hear what she had to say. He finished the second hand and wiped off his fingers with the tea towel before leaning back and picking up his cup.

"She was older than me," Augusta said. "She was named Julia, and she was beautiful. She was a Squib, of course." Neville looked unshaken by this revelation and Augusta continued.

"Julia married a local farmer, Thomas, and they had the most beautiful garden you've ever seen. You know my family, for all its pureblood status, never cared about that. We lived close to the village with its little green and its old Muggle families, and if we were considered eccentric, that didn't really matter. My own grandmother was proud to call herself a hedge witch; things were not so separate then."

"I didn't know," said Neville. 

"I've never been much of one for talking about the past," said Augusta, apologetically. "There are so many stories, and I remember them better now than ever I did when I was younger and in a brisk hurry. And some, some I just wanted to forget."

Augusta took a long swallow of her tea and thought again of her sister's beautiful garden. This was a story she'd wanted to forget for a long time, but she'd never been able to. Neville was a good listener, as warm and sympathetic as this balm of his. 

"We never knew just what caused it," she said. "I suspected that upstart Voldemort; there was quite a bit of harassment and intimidation of pureblood families who didn't have quite the correct sort of proper morals. But by the time we got there, the house was alight, and Julia was lying on the garden path, one of her favourite red roses in her hand." She rubbed her fingers over the soft warmth in her wrists.

"I've never been able to look at plants again without thinking of her," she said. "They've always been something to remind me of loss."

She looked at Neville, seeing the patient understanding on his face and smiled at him. "But of course my grandson must have his own way," she said, "and a love of plants and things that grow is not a bad thing to inherit."

"Indeed, Gran, and now I am afraid I must use the tyrannical disposition I inherited from you to insist that Hannah and I come this weekend to see you again," he said. 

"I shall tell you then about where I got my tyrannical disposition from," she said. 

"I shall look forward to it," he replied.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic of] Annuals & Perennial (the Nostalgia mix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9165739) by [luvtheheaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvtheheaven/pseuds/luvtheheaven)




End file.
